


Something in Your Magnetism

by sp00kz



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot, milex - Freeform, spilling over to humbug era, tlsp1 era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25952959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp00kz/pseuds/sp00kz
Summary: "This can't happen again."It doesn't bother him like it probably should because, at this point, "never again" has started to sound a lot like "until next time."Alex and Miles had an agreement, one of boundaries and restraint. A very clear agreement: What happens in Paris, stays in Paris.Now if only they knew what any of those words meant.
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Comments: 20
Kudos: 62





	Something in Your Magnetism

"This can't happen again." 

He can't see it, but the rustling of fabric tells him that the other has successfully found and gotten into his earlier discarded jeans.

The coldness of his tone might have fazed Miles if it wasn't something he heard often enough. Overuse has rendered the words dull, and they just don't cut like they used to.

He turns on the table lamp, and reaches for the pack of cigarettes lying beside it on his nightstand. 

Through a veil of smoke, he watches the other with mild interest, pottering around the room, looking for various articles of clothing, his shirt, his socks (one of which has inexplicably landed under the bed). Alex gets down on his knees to reach for it and Miles quite enjoys the view. 

He doesn't bother getting dressed because he doesn't plan on getting out of bed to so much as help the other gather his belongings, much less walk him out. 

Instead, he sticks a leg out from underneath the sheet that is mostly pooled around his waist.

Miles pokes at the other man with his outstretched toes as he attempts to fasten his belt (the last of his ensemble). His toe tips trace along the other's jeans-clad thigh until they reach his crotch, at which point they are rudely swatted away. 

"I mean it. This can't happen again."

It still doesn't bother him like it probably should because, at this point, "never again" has started to sound a lot like "until next time."

*****

"What's with the face?"

"Hmm?" 

"You don't look like a guy that's going abroad to record an album, with his best mate at that."

"Have you decided you are that, then? Me best mate."

"Matt and I had a deathmatch. I beat him fair and square. It were tough competition; a lot of blood was spilled."

"And I'm the prize I suppose?"

"One I'll cherish. Now spill. What's the matter?"

"I dunno. Just a bit nervous. I hope it's worth it, you know? All this trouble and money and faith they're putting into us."

"Are you worried it won't turn out good, the album? Mate! Your above average lyrics and my god level musical prowess, how could it not," Miles quips, pulling the other closer by his shoulder before letting go.

"Thanks. I do feel much better," Alex deadpans. 

But the other’s mood quickly shifts back. He looks down at his fingers before continuing,

"It's also the first time I'll be away from Alexa for so long."

"You afraid she might find some other bloke to see her through the lonely nights?"

But Alex doesn’t rise to the bait.

"No, I'll just miss her is all."

"We haven't even taken off yet, and you're already being a mopey sod. 

I'll make sure you don't miss her too much okay? We're going to have such a grand time, you'll wish we never had to get back."

"Mmhmm."

*****

"What's happening here?"

"They're playing strip poker, or strip go fish, or strip... something."

"You're not playing?"

"I'd rather keep all my clothes on till the end of the night-"

"Miles!" It's Alexa. She joins them holding two glasses of what looks like rum and coke, one of which she passes to her boyfriend. In exchange for it, she gets a soft smile.

"Did you just arrive?" She turns back to him.

Miles nods. His coat and scarf are still on, and it's starting to get a bit stuffy.

"I'm glad you made it today, I don't get to see much of you these days."

"Been busy with the record, haven’t I?"

"Don’t you go forgetting your old friends now that you're a proper rock star." She's already a bit tipsy. He can tell by the way she's hanging onto Alex, almost for support. 

"Alex was showing me the videos you guys took in France. They've come out really well. I was telling him you should release them, in like a bts documentary or something. Looks like you had a great time."

"It were alright."

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands without a glass or cigarette to keep them occupied. So, he shoves them into his coat pockets even though it’s uncomfortably warm.

"He's playing it cool. It was the best two weeks of his life, wasn't it Miles?" 

Alex’s tone is light and teasing as if the words weren’t loaded with meaning for them, and Miles can't tell if it's him or the alcohol talking. 

He doesn't get enough time to formulate a clever, yet equally casual response because someone's voice cuts through with the announcement, "cabs’re here. Let’s go lads!"

  
  


Miles likes clubs. He likes the energy, the loud music, the bodies pressed against one another. And right now, he especially likes how dimly lit they are. 

Because, if it weren't for the darkness shrouding his indiscretion, he would have had to explain why he was staring at Alex the way he was.

It's Jamie's birthday. They’re all here, the monkeys, the rascals, other mates he hasn’t met in a while. It's fun. Honestly. 

The more he drinks though, the less fun it gets. Because the more he drinks, the more he loses hold over his tightly controlled emotions.

It's Jamie's birthday, and he's by the bar downing Jager bombs to a round of loud cheers. 

But that's only background sound. Miles’s eyes are fixed on the dancefloor, on Alex. 

He has his arms wrapped around Alexa and they're swaying to the music, having a conversation via whispers in each other's ears. They seem almost as oblivious to Jamie and his little party of cheerleaders as Miles is.

Miles doesn't mind that he's standing alone and still nursing his first beer, watching the couple from a distance. It might look like it, but he's not sulking. He's just watching. He doesn't have anything particularly better to do anyway.

The dim lighting is great.

It hasn't missed his notice that Alex is wearing those jeans. The red ones he loves, the ones that drive him crazy, the ones he had told Alex about wanting to strip off of him, that one time. 

He also doesn't miss the long manicured nails that are hooked to two of its belt loops at this very moment.

He sips his beer, and he watches them, and it’s all good until Alex is looking straight at him, his gaze piercing through him. 

It jolts him, because Miles feels like he's been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Because Alex is looking at him as if to say, _I know you’ve been watching me._

He thinks he's smirking at him, but he can't be sure because Alexa's palm is on his face and she's pulling him in for a kiss and just like that the moment passes. 

Miles doesn't know what just happened. What that was all about. Just that his secret position is compromised.

Also, if he hopes to keep his wits about him, he needs another drink. That, and a shag.

*****

"I need a shag."

"Well, you're not going to get any of that in this studio, mate," scoffed James. "Where's Alex? Can that lad ever be on time?"

"I dunno. Haven't seen him all morning."

Miles is splayed out on the only sofa in the cramped little studio, with a guitar on his belly that he had been tuning, but has now taken to absentmindedly strumming.

"Sorry, I'm late. I were on the phone and I lost track of time."

"Your bird can wait for a bit longer Al. We only have a week more to go." 

"I know, James... I'm sorry. Let's get to work. Won't happen again. "

"I'm sure it won't," Miles snorts.

"Play that again, will you?"

Alex is leaning against the soundboard and one of his hands is clutching the back of Miles's neck. He doesn't think Alex realizes just how tightly. He gets like this sometimes when they’re making music, so immersed in it that he’s not conscious of what the rest of him is doing.

His eyes are closed and so close, enough for Miles to notice that Alex's lashes are quite long. He wonders how he’s never noticed that before. Maybe it's the way they’re fanned across his cheeks right now that is making them look particularly long, he muses.

"Mi, I think you should do that bit again, and let's try adding some harmonies this time yeah?" He squeezes once before letting go.

And Miles has the sudden urge to protest the loss. 

He reels from the thought, like when you're standing on a platform and out of nowhere, you get the urge to jump in front of the approaching train. Invasive, and absolutely unwelcome.

 _I really need a shag,_ he thinks again. And if that can't be managed for another week, he thinks, he at least needs a wank.

"Knock knock." 

"Why would you say it when you could just knock?"

It doesn’t matter either way because the door to Miles’s room is ajar as it is.

"I dunno," Alex chuckles. "Can I come in?"

He’s holding a pillow, and Miles isn't very thrilled at the thought of what that might mean.

"Of course," he says, not letting any trace of disappointment seep into his voice. He doesn't want Alex to know that he has just foiled Miles’s plans of having a self-love session. 

Alex would never let him live it down if he knew.

"Reckon I could sleep here tonight? I'm feeling a bit down."

"Sure. But if you're missing your bird, I don't think I can help you fill that void, babe."

Alex throws the pillow at him, but Miles catches it with a snicker before it can hit its target.

"I just don't fancy sleeping alone," Alex mutters.

By the time Miles is done brushing his teeth and changing into his pajamas, and steps back out into the bedroom, Alex has made himself completely at home.

He’s tucked himself in bed, propped himself against a mound of pillows (which, Miles notes, includes his own pillow), and is reading a book to the light of the bedside lamp.

"What're you reading?"

"It's called, _confessions of a mask_."

"What's it about?" He settles in beside the other. 

The bed isn't too small. It’s more than big enough to accommodate the two of them and leave ample space in between, but Miles is sure he can feel the other's warmth radiating underneath the covers, and it’s unnerving in a way it shouldn’t be. 

"It's about a boy who's repressed his sexuality, and tries so hard to conform to societal norms that it makes him proper dark and sadistic, obsessed with death and torture and that."

Miles raises his eyebrows at him to make sure he's not taking the piss. But Alex’s nose is once again buried in the book and there's no trace of any humour on his stoic face.

He decides to not try and read into it any further because it's been a strange day, and he’d just like to put an end to it. 

He yanks his pillow from behind Alex, making him yelp.

"Hey!"

"Mine," is all he says in lieu of an apology, before burying his head in it. 

"Goodnight." It's muffled by the pillow, but he knows Alex hears him because he gets a soft, "‘night, Mi," in return.

*****

The edges of his lips are glistening with spit, and the sides of his eyes are glistening with tears, but he doesn't stop. 

Alex gently runs his fingers through Miles's hair, a contrast to the way he's fucking into his mouth. 

The action is supposed to be soothing, but it's having the opposite effect. Every stroke sends sparks shooting through his scalp.

He feels it coming well before it actually does. He's fine-tuned himself to the other's body, every quirk and every cue. He’s had plenty of time and practice to.

He lets Alex grab onto his head and hold him down while he paints his throat.

Miles gets off his knees, creeping up the spent body of his companion, whose head has fallen back on the bed, his longish hair splaying out, while his legs are still dangling off it. He climbs all the way up until he’s face to face with the other. 

Alex's eyes are closed and he's gasping through slightly parted lips. Miles moves the hand that's resting on his forehead and holds the other's face in the palms of his own hands. 

His eyes are still closed when Miles leans in to share his own taste with him.

Alex moans into the kiss. His hands roam down the length of Miles’s body, tugging at flesh, pulling him closer.

"I wish I knew how to stop. My life would be so much easier." His voice is hoarse, as if it were he that was on his knees with a cock shoved down his throat.

"Funny that, I wish you would never stop."

It has a sobering effect on Alex. 

He pushes Miles off of him, and goes through his usual drill of getting dressed while muttering his favourite post-coital mantras of, _That was the last time...won’t do it again... slip up.. a moment of weakness... never happening again,_ and he's gone before Miles can say me-and-my-big-bloody-mouth. 

But it doesn't matter, because it only takes two more after-gig parties of making eyes from across the room, before he's back in Miles’s bed, grabbing the headboard, rocking back onto him.

*****

" _Lala la lala la la...wherever he lays... wher...wherever he lays..._ "

"Try adding another note to the end, _he lay-ees_."

" _She clings to his consciousness, wherever he lays_." He sings elongating the last word.

They're on the worn out sofa, going over his part of the song with James, and he's grateful for the guitar on his lap, because it feels like a shield. One that he hadn't known he needed until now.

Alex is sitting beside him. He's listening intently, giving pointers, and Miles doesn't think he notices just how close they're sitting. 

But Miles does. 

He notices the way the other's leg is plastered against his own. He notices his hands when they land on his thigh, or his back in a way that used to feel normal, but now feels intimate somehow. 

He notices when Alex’s fingers dip into one of the kneeholes of his jeans and idly run over Miles’s skin as he hums the tune to himself over and over again. 

He notices because it’s spreading shockwaves throughout his leg and he’s having a difficult time recollecting what chords are.

The new day hadn’t reset his head like he had hoped it would. Because, as soon as he had entered the studio, met with a freshly showered Alex and the lingering smell of his shampoo, Miles had felt that strange feeling again, and it had only hit him worse than yesterday.

He excuses himself to go get some water.

Miles takes comfort in the distance that he’s putting between him and the studio as he makes his way to the kitchen, willing his mind to get a grip on itself.

But it doesn't get any better as the day goes on. Miles does his best to keep his distance from Alex and ends up spending most of the day trying to slip away from the other's touch. Only now that he’s trying to avoid it does he notice just how handsy they can get.

"You alright?" Alex asks. They've taken a short smoke break. Well, Miles had, mostly to get out of the room, but then Alex decides to join him.

"Yeah. Whaddya mean?"

"You’re really quiet... and distant."

"Nah, mate,” he’s quick to dismiss. I'm grand."

Alex nods, but Miles knows he doesn’t buy it, because his suspicions are proved right just then by the way Miles’s muscles tense up when Alex puts his arm around his shoulder. 

"I'm..er..I'm going to go back inside." He stubs his half-smoked cigarette and wriggles himself out of the other's hold.

Miles is once again glad for the day's end.

But once again, it's short-lived.

He turns around at the sound of footsteps to find Alex walking into his room, clad in pajamas, pillow in hand.

Alex seems to think the assent Miles gave the first time applied to all following nights, because this time he doesn't bother asking, just goes straight to _his_ side of the bed and puts down his pillow. His body follows.

Miles wants to kick him out because he’s been wired all day, and he’d been looking forward to unwinding and relaxing alone, away from Alex.

But he's never been particularly good at saying, _no_ , to Alex.

He spends more time in the loo getting ready for bed than he strictly needs to, but ultimately forces himself out when he's out of ways to put off the inevitable.

Alex's back is turned to him and he seems to be asleep, and Miles feels a little bit at ease as he tucks himself in beside the other. He's about to turn off the table lamp when he feels the mattress dip, and the other's voice cuts through the silence.

"Did I do something?"

Miles's hand freezes mid-air in a way that he might have found comical on some other day. 

"No." He drops his hand, reluctantly turning over.

"Then what? Tell me. Why have you been avoiding me?" 

Miles lets his head fall on the pillow and fixes his gaze on the ceiling.

"I've not been avoiding you."

He feels Alex scoot closer. 

"Don't lie to me Mi. You've been acting strange all day, and you’ve been avoiding me."

Miles doesn't know what to say because Miles doesn't fully understand it himself. Why has he been feeling this wound up? Why was Alex affecting him like this, now? Why is he noticing his lashes and his neck, the smell of his shampoo, and the way he tousles his hair and smoothes it again when he’s frustrated?

He looks over at Alex. He's propped his head on one arm and he's looking down at him expectantly.

His eyes, Miles notes, are catching the amber light of the table lamp in a way that makes them look so warm, they wistfully remind him of hot chocolate. And Miles is starting to lose himself in them.

"Miles?" Alex asks hesitantly, pulling him out of his reverie. He catches the other's eyes dart to his lips, but only for a split second.

Alex is for most parts very oblivious, but sometimes he can scare you with just how observant he can be. 

Miles notes with panic that this is fast turning into one of those times.

The way he's looking at him is making Miles feel exposed, like Alex has figured him out.

"Miles," He's not asking anymore. As if he already has his answer. As if he knows.

"I'm going to do something, and if I'm being totally daft, if I've got it all wrong, just laugh it off and don't hate me, okay?"

"Huh?" That's all he has the time to get out before Alex's hand is on his chest and his lips are pressing down against his own. 

He hates it. He hates it because his lips are soft, and he can get the faint smell of his spearmint toothpaste, and it's so, so much better than anything he had imagined, and he just wants more. He hates it because he can no longer dismiss it as his stupid mind playing tricks on him. 

But Alex pulls away. His eyes are full of questions, and Miles can almost hear his heart beating fast, racing his own.

The ball is in his court, Miles realizes. 

It's his call. He can lean in and take what he now knows, without a shred of doubt, that he definitely wants, or do the sensible thing and pull away, take the out Alex is giving him, and laugh it off.

Miles must be too far gone for sensibility. Because his distorted logic tells him, if he puts an end to it now, he'll never know what the other's mouth tastes like, and what his tongue would feel like wrapped around his own, and the not-knowing will surely kill him.

So if anything, he does it for his peace of mind. He dives back in because he just has to.

Alex sighs into the kiss as if he had been holding his breath and then he's kissing Miles properly.

His tongue is met with resistance at first, Alex's fighting for dominance, both of them massaging each other until Miles gives in, allowing Alex to invade his mouth, and Miles feels so heady, he thinks he might pass out.

He warily lets his hand roam down the other's body until it's met with the sliver of skin right above the band of his pajama bottoms, where his shirt has ridden up ever so slightly.

And then, Alex says just about the worst thing one could say to kill the mood during a snog session, "listen, I have a girlfriend." 

As if Miles doesn't know that.

"This doesn't change anything okay? This is just...."

Miles knows. It's just the French countryside, it's the working in close proximity, It's being away from civilization for over a week, it’s the lack of any other outlet or even human contact, it's the raging hormones. He knows it all too well.

"....this once," he finishes.

"Just this once," Alex agrees, and then he's attacking Miles’s neck, making his eyes roll back. 

“And we leave it here, in France.”

*****

"Before you kick me out, I come bearing booze."

As if Miles would have sent him away otherwise.

"What's the occasion?"

"Nowt. Just haven't hung out with you in a while, innit.”

It's true. They're promoting their album, doing shows, and they're together a lot, so to speak. But they haven’t been able to spend any proper time together, just them two. Not the way they used to; no cameras, no managers, no audiences. And though most of it has been incidental, some of it might have been by design.

"Get your feet off my sofa."

Alex doesn't. He's too busy fiddling with Miles’s guitar, the one he had been messing around with just before the other’s arrival.

"When did you get this?"

"Just a couple of days ago actually."

"It's beautiful." There's a far off look in his eyes as he gazes at it, and Miles fleetingly wonders if this is how he looks at his girlfriends too. He shakes himself out of that thought.

"So what have you got for us?" he asks, pulling out the familiar bottle from the bag. 

"Sambuca? Really Turner?"

Alex only shrugs. But he’s also grinning at him cheekily.

Miles rolls his eyes. "I'll get glasses."

"Make them shot glasses."

"Do you want to play FIFA?"

Alex scoffs. Miles had known he would decline. He doesn't have any interest in video games or football, even less when you combine the two.

“Alright, then I'll play FIFA.” He says, because they really haven’t spent any time alone together, just the two of them since they got back, and Miles needs some kind of a distraction to ease into it.

He chooses to sit on the floor, his back resting against the sofa.

He’s usually pretty decent at the game, but not today. And the cause of his losing streak is sitting behind him. 

He is all too aware of Alex’s presence. He knows he’s watching intently because he makes a soft tsking sound every time Miles misses a goal. 

Miles manages two full matches before he feels Alex get restless behind him. 

He tugs at Miles’s hair and it would have amused him before, but now it just makes him tense up.

“Alright then, what do you fancy doing?”

They decide to watch a film. After much rummaging and deliberation, they settle on _Goodfellas_.

It’s a good thing Miles has already watched it more times than he can count, because no part of the movie registers in his brain this time around.

He’s made sure to sit on the other end of the sofa. As far away from Alex as possible without it seeming weird. Another thing, he notes, he never had to think of before.

But even with the proximity, his feet are brushing against the other’s leg, and that’s where most of Miles’s focus is. 

But contrary to what’s going on in his head, on the outside, his eyes are fixed on the screen, determined to maintain a cool exterior.

Alex, however, it would seem, can’t be arsed to keep up any such ruse.

"Stop looking at me like that." Miles turns to the other, but he doesn’t seem particularly perturbed at being called out.

He only shrugs.

"What are you thinking about?"

"France."

Miles freezes. Realistically they hadn't actually left all the memories back in France, but they hadn’t talked about it either. He hadn't expected Alex to bring it up anytime in the near future. And definitely not so outright.

"What about it?"

"You know what."

It does get weird sometimes. The air between them takes on a strange quality now and then, but for most parts, it's been manageable. 

There have been the occasional lingering eyes, touches that previously would have gone unnoticed, but now give way to awkward scrambling. But for most parts they've managed to keep their friendship above water, and as normal as they could have hoped to, considering.

The key had been to deftly sweep it all under the rug and not address any of it. 

Miles doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he just sits there, and watches as Alex moves closer, close enough to be able to reach out and take hold of his left hand.

He doesn’t say anything, just twists the ring on Miles’s pinky finger.

"Alex, we agreed." 

Alex drops Miles’s hand and he instantly mourns the loss of warmth.

"I know," he sighs, running his hand through his hair. "I know.”

He scoots back to the other end of the sofa. “Another shot?"

“It's just this once. For old times' sake." Less than half an hour later, and he’s back on Miles’s side of the couch, invading his personal space.

"To get it out of the system," Miles reasons, because he only has so much self control.

There's hesitation in the way Alex's fingers trail along his skin. It's well different from the way they did back then.

It isn't enough to satisfy the itch Miles has been feeling gnawing at him ever since he got back, one that he's been trying so hard to ignore, suppress, resist.

Because they had an agreement. 

What happened in France must be left in France. It wasn't baggage they wanted to, nor had to, for that matter, bring back to England. It would only make things messy and complicated, and neither of them wanted that.

But he wants _this_. He craves it, and if this is, in fact, the last time, what Alex is giving him right now isn't nearly enough.

He grabs hold of the other’s hand that's resting on his chest and places it on his crotch so Alex can feel exactly the kind of effect he has on him still. 

It results in a sharp intake of breath.

"Just this once," Alex repeats against his lips as his palm starts stroking with more confidence and zeal.

****

He's chasing his breath, struggling to catch it. But so is the other. He can hear Alex beside him heaving loudly in time with his own heavy breathing. 

Even now they're in sync.

They're lying side by side, their bodies, mere inches apart, but they're not touching. 

They're not touching anywhere, except their fingers. Miles’s fingers are ever so slightly grazing the other's, and he'll take that little crumb. 

He doesn't dare try and take more. 

Because, although his mind is hyper-focused on that point of contact, he doesn’t think Alex notices it, and he’s afraid if he makes any sudden moves, Alex might withdraw it completely. 

“Will you stay?" It's a risky thing to ask. But Miles is feeling a bit reckless today.

Alex, sitting on the edge of the bed, freezes. His arms that are already in the armholes of his T-shirt drop to his lap.

"You know I'm not going to."

He's not disappointed because it's exactly what he had expected to hear. He's not disappointed, but it still hurts.

He doesn't miss the way he says ‘I'm not going to’, instead of ‘I can't’ or ‘I shouldn't’, giving no indication of whether he might actually be inclined to. 

And yet, it’s definitive.

As if he were replying for every time in the future that Miles might think of asking him that. _I am not going to. So don't even bother bringing it up._

*****

The sun is beating down on them and it's warm. Warm enough for him to feel the first sign of dampness on his forehead. 

It's made worse by the body lying directly on top of him, pressing its weight down, barely leaving any space for his lungs to expand. But he's not going to complain about that because he only has one more day to relish this, one more day before they get back to real life. 

"Did you know, the oldest living thing on earth is grass?"

He turns to the side where Alex's slender fingers are wrapping and unwrapping itself around a tall blade of grass. He can feel the other’s hair tickling his nose.

"It’s underwater, in the Mediterranian sea and it's something like twenty thousand years old."

"Imagine that."

Miles doesn't know what to do with this information, just as he doesn't know what to do with any of the random stuff Alex tells him. 

He figures the other just needs to say them when it comes to his mind, and so he indulges him. Besides, Miles has always enjoyed listening to Alex talk, too much to ever want to stop him.

"Miles, have you ever been in love?"

It's out of nowhere, just like most things he says. As if he were already deep into the conversation in his head and has decided to include Miles in it now.

"I don't think so. Why'd you ask?"

"Just writing in the morning got me thinking." 

Miles can't see his face because it's resting on his chest, but his voice takes on a pensive tone.

"I write about it, but I can't be sure I've ever actually felt it. I mean the love you read about, the poetic, passionate, transcendental kind of love, that's love reserved for fiction, innit? That's not _real life_ love."

"Don't you love Alexa, like?"

"I do. A lot. She's well pretty and smart, and I love spending time with her. She makes me happy. But it doesn't feel like that. It's not as.... dramatic, and I know it isn’t meant to be either. 

“Love like that isn’t realistic. It’s romanticized and hyperbolic. It’s daft to look for love like that because you'll just be setting yourself up for disappointment. But I don't know, it just makes me feel....cheated, somehow. That I can read about it and write about it, but never really have it."

*****

“Look, he may be massive and strong, but smaller faster men have a huge advantage over him toe to toe, and if it’s Bruce Lee, come on, mate, he would end him in ten seconds.”

He can hear his friend clearly, he’s sitting right beside him after all. He knows what he’s saying, and he knows somewhere in his brain is a very sound counter-argument, he’s just having trouble accessing it. 

Because right now, it’s hard for him to focus. And he’s going to blame it entirely on a slender figure that’s made its presence known to him from across the room. 

Usually, he’s good at keeping his feelings in check and not giving the inner working of his mind away, but tonight’s a celebration, it's a success party for _humbug_ , which means tonight the drinks are flowing, and Alex keeps looking at him the way he is, and it's wreaking havoc in his head.

It might have something to do with the fact that Miles hasn't seen Alex in a couple of weeks. The other's been busy with the release and promotions of the album.

He's also feeling a bit wound up because of the lack of sex.

Of course, realistically he could find someone else to shag, but turns out his body has, quite annoyingly so, developed an exclusive taste for the other, and has decided that if he can't have Alex, no one else will do.

Miles doesn't know how he ended up here.

It had started as a shag, and now it's turned into a waiting game, like fishing or birdwatching, except it's far less relaxing than either of those.

He's trying very hard to stay in the conversation. On any other day, he could go on and on about Brock Lesnar and his ability to paste any breathing entity, but today he can't concentrate.

Alex keeps throwing looks his way, and every time Miles catches one, his breath catches with it.

Every time he looks over, he feels like Alex has moved a bit closer, until he really is standing just a few inches away, hovering over him.

"Alright, Mi? Been a while, innit" Alex says, a little too breezily, as if he had only just spotted Miles.

"Yeah. Congrats on your record."

"Taa.” His eyes drift to Miles’s companion for a split second, but he doesn't acknowledge his presence, much less introduce himself. “Fancy a smoke?"

Miles nods, mumbles a feeble apology to his mate, and gets up to follow Alex.

But before they can make it to the exit, he's pulled into the loo.

Thankfully it's empty because as soon as they step in, Alex is on him, attacking his lips, pressing his body to Miles’s.

This is new for them.

They never do this anywhere outside of the fortress that is Miles’s flat. But Miles isn't going to be the one to put an end to it. Not when he's been missing it so badly.

And not when Alex seems to be just as desperate for him.

The other doesn’t say it, but he can taste the words on his tongue, _I missed you._ And Miles laps it up, savours it.

Alex's hair seems to have grown even longer in the two weeks that Miles didn't see him, and he quite enjoys the way they feel entwined with his fingers as he pulls the other closer.

He can feel the other unfasten his belt and a small voice at the back of his head is warning him that they're too exposed, it's too risky, but then Alex's hand is slipping into his pants, and all of Miles's thoughts turn into treacle.

He wants to tell Alex to stop, to take it back to his place, save it for later. He also wants to tell him to just get rid of the stupid jeans and wank him properly, or better yet, get down on his knees. 

But all he can do is drop his head down on the other's shoulder and moan incoherent sounds.

He's so close. And Alex is so close to him. And he smells like he always does, cigarettes, shampoo and _Alex_ , and Miles has missed it so much. 

The first couple of days he had buried his face in the other’s jacket, the one he had forgotten to take in his haste the last time he left, because it carried the smell. 

He still tries to do that sometimes even though it's long gone. Now and then he gets a whiff of it, and he knows it's just a phantom smell, his memory playing tricks on him, but he revels in it anyway.

The real thing is so much better, he decides. He might be getting drunk on it 

"Alex..."

"Alex?"

"Shit, Jamie!"

"Miles?"

"Jamie!"

"What the actual fuck!"

  
The hand is gone. His hard-on is gone. All he feels is cold chilling dread, and most of it is coming from Alex. 

"It's not what it looks like."

"Look, mate, whatever floats your boat, yeah? I'm not judging." Jamie looks incredulous. Like he's had the most bizarre dream, and he's not sure if he's awake yet or not.

He holds his hands up and gives a disbelieving snort, before slowly making his way out.

Miles wants to comfort Alex, tell him it’ll be okay, say the things he wishes someone would say to him right then to ease his tension. But Alex is too busy following Jamie out to so much as throw him a glance.

"Jamie, listen. It's not like that..."

His voice trails off, and Miles doesn't hear the rest of it. He doesn't know how Alex hopes to explain it as anything other than what it very clearly was. He doesn't know what story he's making up, and he doesn't care either. 

He just feels....tired.

Miles realizes that he wants to keep him locked up, all to himself, but Alex isn't one to be caged, he knows that too. So he'll let him go. 

And Miles can live with this, because at least he can be sure Alex will keep coming back.

Until he doesn't.

It's been over a week. If Miles was in the habit of keeping track of such things, he might have said it was the longest he's gone without any contact with Alex.

The other hasn't so much as shot him a text, let along stopped by his place.

At first, he had just let him be, thinking he would come around in a day or two. But when all he got was radio silence, Miles had sent him a text, to which he had got no response. This was almost a week ago.

He pickups his phone and stares at the first name in his contacts. He considers just calling it, but then changes his mind and goes for the number right below it.

"Lex, hey!"

"Miles?" She's confused, and understandably so. They were friends, but not the call-each-other-at-random-hours-of-the-day-for-no-reason kind of friends.

"Whatsup?"

"Umm..." he hadn't actually planned this far, but thankfully she's astute enough to guess. 

"Did you want to talk to Alex?"

"Is he with you?"

"Er...." He can hear rustling on the other end. That, added to the hesitation in her voice, is a dead give away that he is.

"Umm...you've actually just missed him. Did you want me to pass on some message?"

"No, that's alright."

If that’s how Alex wants to play it, he decides he’s not going to keep groveling.

The rest of the day is spent cleaning his flat which might have been just an excuse to get his mind off of Alex, but one that seemed to be working.

He spent hours scrubbing, wiping, brushing and vacuuming. So that by nightfall, his body was as spent as his mind, and he could at least hope to get some sleep, even if it was out of sheer exhaustion.

_You cunt._

It's not a text he had been expecting. Especially not from the girl that had greeted him so cheerfully just hours ago. 

But considering everything, he can't say he doesn't deserve it, and that's what puts him on edge.

Does she know? Had Alex told her?

He doesn't have the courage to call her and ask, or even respond to the text, so he tries calling Alex, but his phone is switched off.

He stares at the text for several minutes, reading and rereading the two words, and they say the same thing each time.

Finally he succumbs and presses dial, except her phone is now switched off too.

The feeling of anxiety in him had now bubbled up to the point where he feels like he might explode if he doesn't speak to someone, and not having anyone else he could talk to about this, he calls the only other person who knows. 

It's a decision made in a moment of panic and he doesn't give himself enough time to talk himself out of it.

"Miles? What time is it?" asks the sleep laden voice.

"I dunno, twelve-sh. Is this a bad time?"

"It's midnight," Jamie says groggily. "Yes, it's a bloody bad time."

"Sorry, I just didn't know who else to call."

There's silence on the other end, and then he hears some rustling and a clicking sound. He can only assume Jamie has sat up in bed and turned some lightswitch on.

"What's the matter?"

"It's about Alex," He says cautiously. "Have you spoken to him recently?"

Jamie takes several seconds to answer. "On and off, why?" 

And Miles can hear the edge in his voice.

"He's been ignoring me. What's happening with him and Alexa?"

"Miles, I think it's best if you stay out of that," he says slowly, as if he’s considering every word before saying it.

"Did you tell her?"

"No, I bloody didn't tell her! But I did tell him that _he_ had to tell her. Don't you think she deserves to know that her boyfriend's been cheating on her with his best mate?"

The way Jamie says it, feels like a blow to his gut.

Because in all this time, he had never thought of it that way. He had never really considered what it was they were doing, what it implied. They just...did it, and then never thought about it until they did it again.

"Look he's been acting strange since that day, and she must have sussed it out. I don't approve of it, but I wouldn't tell on him or anything. It's none of my business. And as it were, I'd always be on his side."

"I know..."

"Miles,” he continues after a long pause, “I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into. I don’t mean this whole mess, but with Alex.” He pauses again, as if searching for the right words. 

“He can be...he can be very..." He doesn't seem to have found them.

"...I know, Jamie." Miles says softly. He knows because he's been living it for over a year now.

"Thanks anyway."

*****

"Alexa and I, it’s over."

He had noticed him from a few feet away, sitting at Miles's doorstep, his head in his hands. 

Standing face to face with him now, Miles gets a better look at his face.

He looks like shit. His eyes look sullen, like he hasn’t slept in days, and his hair looks greasy. Miles had been bracing himself for the confrontation, but he hadn’t expected _that_ to be the first thing he heard. Even so, it doesnt faze him. 

Past experience has taught Miles not to get his hopes up when he hears it.

"If you're looking for someone to lick your wounds because your bird broke up with you, you're in the wrong place. Someone once told me I was only good for a fuck."

"I said no such thing."

"You made it clear enough."

"I didn- ...I'm not here to fight."

"Yeah, why are you here? Because I’ve tried reaching you, and all you’ve done is ghost me for weeks."

"I just needed to think straight. I never can when I'm with you."

Miles wants to laugh at the pun, but he doesn't want to give the other the satisfaction.

"What do you want Al?" Miles is tired, and the plastic handles of the take out bag he's holding are cutting into his fingers.

"You. All of you. I'm done running, Miles."

Miles feels his stomach rumble. It’s been almost a full day since he’s eaten anything, and he’d just like to go upstairs and dig into his meal before it gets cold.

"I thought you'd be happy." The words come out sounding as hurt as the other looks.

"I don't know what to say, Al,” Miles sighs, raking through his hair with his free hand. They're getting kind of long and they keep getting in his eyes, he needs to get a haircut soon. 

“You're done running...until you're not. You're in...until you're out. You want me...until you don't. I just don't know what to believe. Alexa broke up with you, and now you're here, what happens when you move on, and get a new bird?"

"Alexa didn't break up with me.” He takes a hesitant step forward. “She said she'd forgive me, that we could still move to New York together and start over.” 

Alex sighs and looks down, speaking more to Miles’s shoes than him. “But she also gave me an ultimatum. Said I couldn’t see you again. Said she wouldn't be able to get over it if I were still in touch with you, and then it wasn't a choice at all. There's no way I can give you up, is there. Just the very thought of it felt like the most mental thing.

Now when he looks up at Miles his eyes are pleading, and Miles gets the feeling he’s trying to pour into the words all the sincerity that he can muster. At least that’s what he would like to believe.

“I don't want another bird, Miles. Because it’s you I want. You’re it. You’ve always been it. I’ve just been too much of a muppet to see that.” He takes another cautious step towards Miles and gingerly takes his free hand in his own.

“When I'm with you, I feel like I'm on a rollercoaster,” he says, twisting the ring on Miles’s pinky finger. 

“With you, everything is so intense and vivid and saturated, it almost scares me. But without you is the absolute opposite. It’s grim and it’s bleak and it’s meaningless. What I’m saying is,...you're my fiction love, Miles."

Miles thinks that’s an awfully cheesy line to say, and he wants to tell the other just that, but his words are cut off, and then his entire thought process is cut off.

Because Alex is kissing him, on the street, where they can be seen, in the ample light of the dusk, like it's the most normal thing. 

And Miles feels himself melt right into it.

Miles doesn't know how long they stand there just snogging, but his attention-seeking stomach eventually pulls them back to planet earth.

“You’re hungry,” Alex chuckles, and Miles thinks he’s doomed because he’s going to spend the rest of his life falling in love with that sound, over and over again.

“Let’s go eat,” he says, but pulls the other by the waist to plant one more less-than-chaste kiss.

"Does this mean you’ll let me stay tonight?"

"Just this once?" Miles asks, although he’s already made up his mind.

Alex grins and shakes his head.

"Every time."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Please do leave me your thoughts, critiques, and emojis!
> 
> Update: I have a [ Tumblr](https://cheekysideblog.tumblr.com/) now.


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